


saved from any evil wind

by the_ragnarok



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Cuddle Pollen, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8445112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: They expect sex pollen and get cuddle pollen instead.





	

John makes it to the library with his heart in his throat, conscious of his gun where it presses against his side, ready to be taken out.

Harold's inside, more vulnerable than ever. Shaw's on the perimeter, but John can't lose sight of safety just yet. He goes through the rooms, looking for telltale signs of unauthorized entrance.

"John?" Harold's voice is just a bit higher than usual. "Are you coming?"

John closes his eyes, takes several deep breaths. They discussed it, quite thoroughly. Him hurting Harold, Harold hurting him. "Whatever is necessary to see us through," Harold said, when they discussed it, voice soft and so kind John thought it would break him.

It didn't, and at the end of the day Harold got dosed, not John. 

Of course, John did plan for this eventuality. He'll get Harold off with his hand, then his mouth, when Harold gets oversensitive towards the end, and hopefully that should take care of matters. It's fine. Nothing John hasn't done before, albeit not with Harold.

John walks into the other room, trying to keep _But not with Harold_ ringing through his ears like a condemnation.

Harold smiles at him, bright and open. It claws at John's chest. "Harold," he says, voice rusty.

"John!" And in a moment Harold is inside his space, cozying up to John. Harold is somewhat stiff, but less so than John would have expected. 

It's enough to get John slightly worried. "How's your back?"

Harold makes a humming sound and clings to John. "It hurts, but I don't terribly mind right now." Harold's hands worm under John's jacket. His forehead leans in the direction of John's throat without quite meeting it, and John bends so Harold is supported.

He puts tentative hands over Harold's back. The wool of Harold's jacket is itchy under his fingers. Harold smells like books and soap and dust. "What do you need?"

"Hm," Harold says. "Perhaps we could lie down?"

This is it. John swallows. 

Harold won't let him get away far enough to take off his clothes, and neither is Harold trying to take them off for him. Fine. If Harold wants to dry hump like teenagers, Harold can have that. It's better, anyway, for John not to remember what Harold's naked skin feels like, what he looks like under those clothes.

("Of course, it's only a very last resort," Harold said, when they were discussing this, and John gave a wooden nod. Of course.)

John lies down on his back. Harold fusses with pillows, and John watches. It strikes him that this must be part of Harold's bedtime routine, figuring out a way to arrange the bed that he does every day before he sleeps.

Information's like a live grenade sometimes: hard to tell if it's better to throw it as far as you can and lose potential tactical advantage, or hold it close and know it's likely to destroy you.

"Alright, here," Harold says with authority, patting his own hip. John edges up behind him, spoons him awkwardly, and places his hand as ordered. "Hm, a little more to the-- oh, excellent," when John settles closer, molding their bodies together.

Harold exhales. Now John knows what it feels like to have Harold relax against him, trusting, and he can never unlearn that. He wonders if that will make what follows better or worse. 

Which brings up, actually, another question: how is Harold so calm?

"Do you need anything?" John tries.

"I'm very well, thank you." Harold pats his hand. "I might nap, in fact, if you wouldn't mind holding still."

Being still is well within John's skill set. He breathes out, watching his breath stir the tiny hairs on Harold's nape, hears Harold make a satisfied sound, shivers. 

It's a long night, not least because John can't help memorizing every last second of it. Harold falls asleep fairly quickly in John's arms, with such unthinking trust that John almost flinches away when he realizes it. 

Come dawn, Harold shifts, his heart beating quicker as he wakes: John feels the rhythm change everywhere they touch. 

"Well," Harold says, voice thick with sleep, "that was unexpected. I suppose we should be thankful for unexpected blessings," he muses.

"Sure," John says, mouth moving before he can think. "Anything to spare you having to have sex with me," more bitter than he intends it to be.

And Harold - Harold should be hurt, or upset, or confused. But he blinks up at John, bare eyes large and unfocused, and says, "If you wanted that, wouldn't it make more sense to do it when neither of us is drugged out of our minds?"

John opens his mouth to answer, realizes he doesn't have one, and shuts it. That was not an option that occurred to him.

"You can ask for things just because you want them," Harold says, mildly reproving. "There's no need for them to be mission critical."

Finally John finds his voice. "You said, only if we had to."

"Have sex that you didn't desire?" Harold looks unimpressed. "Yes, John. That, only if we have to. Sex that you desire, and that I also desire, is a very different matter."

"Excuse me for not realizing that you...." John trails off. He doesn't know what word belongs there, can't even gesture properly. They're too close together.

Perhaps it's telling that neither of them moved away just yet.

"...That I was interested?" Harold says. "Well, I am; and you could have asked. Though, I suppose, so could I. Oh, well. But now we know."

It seems impossible, Harold so calm, like this was as trivial as getting take out for dinner. But Harold's heart is steady, and his eyes are fearless, and he lays one tender hand on John's shoulder. 

"Now we know," Harold says again, quieter, like he's thinking. His hand pulls, just a little, an invitation, and John goes where he's moved, breaking into a helpless smile as their lips meet.


End file.
